


An Augmented Space Seed Grows on Earth

by fresne



Series: Voyages of the Bakerstreet [18]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alpha Sherlock Holmes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Omega John Watson, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-06-30 11:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15751200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: While John is still dealing with the after effects of recent events, Starfleet is racked as every Augment in the fleet is required to report to the nearest Starbase to uncover the truth of a century old mystery.





	1. Other POV

**Author's Note:**

> As with the previous, this one will come to you in chapters.

Brittanus' consciousness returned as if a fog was clearing as they woke up from their cryogenic sleep. Less wearing than the last time when they had been woken by Starfleet to be leashed as a weapon of war to another’s purpose.

They had expected to never to be woken again after Spock had subdued them, taken their very blood for a cure for death, and then had dictated terms. Their family yet lived. They could accept a new exile not into the undiscovered country, but cryogenic sleep.

That they were woken again and so easily implied a shorter period of years had passed asleep. 

Multiple forms walked about the room with heavy metalic steps.

They opened their eyes a slit to see tall figures in mechanized armor. The design of the room was curved. Organic in design.

There was a trilling whistle followed by a computerized voice. "Your brain scans show that you are awake Khan Brittanus."

They opened their eyes and took in the more details about the room. It was alien, or at least not Starfleet in nature. Brittanus feigned weakness. "How long?"

"Fifty of your Earth years," said figure with yellow piping along the edges of the armored plates. Other figures were green or blue. No figure’s colors were repeated.

“Who?” Brittanus feigned shortness of breath, as the feeling in their limbs came back. A question. A ruse for time to gather strength.

The figures conferred in whistles and beeps.

The most important question would be to find out if their family lived. What was left of their family. Those few Augments created to be superior to the Beta version of Humanity, who had made it to the sleeper ship before Brittanus had set off the nuclear device to obscure the heading of their journey.

Family.

Brittanus repressed once again thoughts of Mycroft. Left behind in the last days. The odds of any of the ships finding fertile soil had been too high to bring him.

Only to have Brittanus wake alone in a ship crewed by Beta Humans to discover that while the descendants from each Khanate had grown dilute, they were many.

On that previous awakening, Brittanus had at least determined that Mycroft had survived. During their too brief bolt for freedom, while the certain matters had required time to proceed, they had spared time to see some distant descendant of theirs put on a play about Mycroft's and their eventual partner’s lives. No reference to Mycroft as the child of a Khan. A prince of a too brief Khanate. That fact lost to time. Those descendant’s genetic connection to Mycroft diluted to less than a percent.

Let it be so.

Finally, a figure with violet piping said, “You see before you representatives from each of the twenty-two alignments of the Breen Confederation.” 

To require representatives, implied divisions. Brittanus could use that.

"How? Why?" 

The creatures conferred again, before several of them explained in a good deal of detail why they had spent many years planning and expending vast resources to free Brittanus from their cryogenic prison. They even provided a gift. A vial of blood, which they had obtained not long after Brittanus left Earth.

Of no use to them as it turned out, but of some significance to Brittanus. They turned in their hand all that was left of the child they had left behind.

Even as they turned options and possibilities over in their mind. There were too many options. Possibilities. Too random to ensure. Seeing as it would require three rival tigers to lay down together in harmony. Khans. Tigers. Yet with the three of them, with a version of their child returned to them, they might accomplish much. 

"There were two other sleeper ships that left Earth on headings that only I know." Brittanus had built those ships. They had been the only one to believe that they could not hold what they had taken. Of all the Khans, only two sometimes enemies had trusted Brittanus enough to accept the offer. A fortunate two it would seem.

"Tell us the headings."

"Give me resources and my followers, and I will gather them myself."

The Breen conferred.

"And when I find them," said Brittanus thinking, considering, "they cannot know what you’ve shown me."

“If you say that it is necessary. We commit all to success.”

Brittanus was not so sure that they would be able to commit so wholly. They steeled themselves in that moment to bear what must be done and seize what advantage they could.


	2. Sherlock POV

While some part of Sherlock eased on waking with John nesting in his bed in his quarters, a place they had never spent any time before, with full consciousness that part would tighten again knowing the cost was too high.

He wanted John yelling at him and grinning as they rigged an explosive device to kill an incorporeal creature that consumed the electrical impulses in the Human – and other species – bodies.

Not the silent omega drifting day to day. Replicating and consuming more liquor than was a good idea. Suddenly exploding in rage. Just as suddenly subsiding into silence.

They needed an adventure.

No energy creatures appeared.

What did occur was a communique from Starfleet. All Augment personnel were to report to the nearest Starbase for questioning, while the Bakerstreet was to continue tediously charting the Teveda Nebula.

The nearest Starbase was Starbase 212, but Hunter cleared her throat at the morning briefing. "Commander, DS9 isn't that much farther. They know us there. Sisko will make sure that whatever is going on your rights aren't umm..." she pursed her lips, "abridged."

"Oh, come on, Vi. This is the Federation," said Smith.

Hunter's expression if anything grew more serious. "With the first link, the chain is forged. The first speech censured... the first thought forbidden... the first freedom denied – chains us all irrevocably. Judge Aaron Satie. Yeah, a friend of mine thought his career was made when he was posted to the flagship, the Enterprise, but he got caught up in a witch hunt. Lost his career just because his grandfather was a Romulan and not a Vulcan. Those of us who aren't in the line of fire have to use whatever resources we can to break the chain."

"Excellent idea, dear," said Hudson. "You should probably pilot the shuttle. We'll need someone there who isn't being called in for questioning."

Though it all, the others eyes avoided looking at John, who looked off out the window. He wasn't paying attention.

There were discussions over whether the order applied to Billy. It was decided not.

John sighed.

There were discussions as to whether Hebrun would want to bring Eva or leave her with the child's father. A quick call down to botany answered that question decisively that Hebrun would not be leaving Eva behind.

John got a cup of tea.

"Commander," said Hudson more seriously. "While you're on DS9, go to the tailor, and see about getting some off duty clothing. Tell him I recommended him."

"Waste of time," said Sherlock watching John. "Replicators can produce anything that's needed. Hand crafted labor makes no sense in this day and age." Although, he knew why she'd suggested it. Garak hadn't always been a tailor. Wasn't even currently entirely a tailor. That much was obvious from what he'd seen of the man's shop when they'd used DS9 as their home base.

John did not protest that hand crafted clothing had details no replicated pattern could ever think of. That those details were an indication of care and attention. But perhaps when confronted with such items, some part of him would resurface.

Sherlock decided that the very first place he would go upon arriving on DS9, provided they were not arrested on sight, was this Mr. Garak's.

He wanted John to come back to the living. Not remain focused on the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the first link, the chain is forged. The first speech censured... the first thought forbidden... the first freedom denied – chains us all irrevocably. Judge Aaron Satie.  
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/The_Drumhead_(episode)


	3. John POV

John packed a small case of mementos. There was no telling how long they would be. He looked blankly around his quarters. He hadn't been there in almost two weeks. He packed away the pictures of his parent's theater's company. The Watsons. His name wasn't even really Watson. He didn't know who he was.

He picked up Harry's picture

He blanked for a moment.

Found a shattered frame on the floor on the far side of the room. A little black mark on the wall above it. He left it where it was.

Went to sickbay. Put data crystals for various medical journals he'd been meaning to read in the box. The wooden one. He should leave it behind. He found the thought of leaving it behind skin crawlingly horrifying.

He packed it.

"John, is there anything I can get you," said Julian from somewhere to his right.

John realized that he was crying in public. Dashed away the tears with an angry hand. "Sod off!"

Julian tilted his head. "I'm programed not to be upset when patients react that way."

"I'm not your fucking patient." John snapped the box shut and stomped off with it under his arm.

Julian didn't follow him down the string of holo emitters down the hall.

John felt the box sharp and angular against his ribs. Every cube was full of the grandchildren of a mass murderer. John had that inside him too. Every Augment did, wasn't that what every Normal thought. That every Augment had the genes to become dictators and mass murders.

As suddenly as his rage had come, it blew off his paltry stage. Signifying nothing.

Like always.

Grey.

As he passed the daycare, Billy darted out to approach him. John saw his expression as if through a fog. "John, I don't think you should go." He looked around. "I don't think any of you should go."

Distantly, John could see that Billy was terrified. John's hand felt infinitely far away as he laid it on Billy's shoulder. "It'll be fine." He didn't know that. It probably wouldn't be. How could anything be fine ever again? He should say something. "Don't worry. This is not the twenty-first century."

He didn't care.

Billy lowered his voice. "You should all take the shuttle and go as far away from here as you can. We could..." he looked nervously around the hallway, "We could go with you."

"They've turned on us before."

John tried to feel the energy it would take to reassure Billy, but couldn't.

"Billy," said Soo-Lin coming the other way down the hall. "I wanted to see you before I left." She had a soft smile on her face. It was a kind smile that went all the way into her eyes. The kind of smile his father used to give. "Remember what I've told you. If anything happens, go to Beta Aurigae. It's on the border with the Breen Confederacy and has a large population of Augments. You and Connor will be safe there."

John left them. He was too tired and foggy for this. Soo-Lin was there. She cared about Billy. He went to the shuttle bay and got in 221B. Stowed his case in the storage compartment. Sat in a seat and drifted, as the others got in. As the shuttle took off.

He opened his eyes when a small hand shook his arm. Eva held a doll knitted out of red and yellow yarn out to him. "Don' be sad." She jiggled the floppy thing with its strands of yarn hair. "Um…you know… I… I think I'll share Flopsy."

John took the doll from her hand. The fabric was soft and warm. He remembered when Khatri had knitted it. When all the omegas in the crew had contributed something hand made for Lucy's baby shower. John had stitched together a quilt. Nothing very fine, but he saw it peeking out of the bulging traveling case Lucy had brought. All of little Eva's belongings. Nothing of her own.

She'd replicate anything she needed. He should say something about that.

He should say something.

"What's Flopsy going to do?" asked Eva, her little face serious.

"Eva, you should let Doctor Watson rest," said Lucy.

"No, it's… it's fine." John could feel Sherlock watching him. Always watching him. He needed to be calm so Eva would stay calm. "I don't know what she's going to do."

Eva giggled. "Silly. Flopsy is an Omega boy. See." She pointed at a tiny tuft of yarn that had unraveled between Flopsy's legs.

Lucy groaned. "Eva, honey, what have we talked about? Gender can be fluid. Flopsy could be an omega girl or a boy, neither, or both. It has nothing to do with what's between their legs."

Eva grinned. "Flopsy can be whatever he wants to be." She took the doll back and squeezed it, shifting the stuffing. "Now she's a girl omega. And she's going on an adventure. In a shuttle." Eva prattled on explaining Flopsy's adventure on the shuttle.

John suddenly had the thought that she was about the age his children would have been. If he'd had them. That first time with Sherlock. If they'd survived. There was always that. Actually, no. She'd be six months younger. Or the same for the second set. Or a year older if the third. Infants when things had started. Pregnant with a Eugenics war going on inside him now.

Killers? Carriers for the murder gene?

He needed to stay calm.

Eva didn't like scary stories and cried if someone was hurt. Eva had a very soft heart.

Two seats up, Bailey was smiling at Eva's story. Alpha scent now that they'd completed their transition. They were a good person. Steady. A bit dull. Nothing like Harry. Nothing like John.

John was a killer. He'd killed. To protect Sherlock. Himself. On missions.

He was a doctor. He was a soldier. Was he a carrier? Or a killer? It was John who was a carrier of the killing gene.

"You're not listening," said Eva. She burst into tears. "It's the good part."

John could feel his own tears forming.

"Eva," said Lucy. "Why don't you finish telling Doctor Watson your story later? You both need a nap."

"Don't," said Eva, clutching Flopsy to her chest.

"Which is how I know you do."

John watched Lucy efficiently bundle Eva into her stroller and in moments Eva's head was lolled to one side in sleep. Eyes closed and mouth open. Drooling slightly on Flopsy.

Sherlock was watching him. Always watching him. John went into the bunk room in the back and laid down in one of the four bunks. He'd sleep now and get up when someone else wanted to sleep.

He wanted to ask Sherlock to join him. To curl into his warmth. Into the solid mass of him. The rules against fraternization with a superior officer seemed far away. The ability to speak felt far away too.

Someone, he thought it was Khatri, said, "Sir, if you want to go in there, do it. We don't have to have augmented noses to know you're a couple."

Owen said, "Personally, think it's a fucking shame you won't do right by him. Just on account of John not being able to carry little ones."

"Owen!" said Soo-Lin. "Commander Holmes doesn't owe you any explanations about his relationship with John."

Sherlock said, "You are all making assumptions based on poor foundations, but I appreciate the discretion."

The door into the bunk room closed.

Sherlock stood on the inside of it. His safe comforting scent surrounded John before his body wrapped around John's.

John luxuriated in warmth. In comforting grounded scent. Earthy. Spicy. A little wild.

He found himself wanting what he hadn't on the Bakerstreet. Needing it. He bent his head up and kissed Sherlock. Searchingly. Aching. Longing to feel something good.

"John, your timing leaves something to be desired." Sherlock didn't let go of John. He said, "Door, lock. Command sequence 489790."

"Door locking," said the shuttle's computer.

Sherlock slowly slid John out of his clothes. Peeling them off as if removing an old skin that John didn't need. As if John were infinitely fragile. He was less careful about his own disrobing.

John should help. He should do more than lift his hips and let Sherlock free him of his clothes. Let Sherlock slide those wonderful strong hands over his skin. Increasingly rapid breathing responding to those clever lips dropping kisses along John's chest. Suddenly needing all the oxygen in the room. Needing to forget breathing as they traded air from each other's mouths.

Eyes closed. Blind. Tasting. Seeing with fingers. With tongue. With the sharpening scent of arousal. The silky drift of Sherlock's hair as he mouthed John's nipples. As he licked both John's cock and cunt. Rapid breath a warm constant on dampened skin.

John didn't want to speak. He never wanted to speak. He opened his eyes into Sherlock's. Pupils dilated. Always observing him. He pushed Sherlock's right hand in the direction of what he wanted. Sherlock's smile was unutterably sweet.

John closed his eyes. He didn't deserve sweet.

He felt Sherlock press a spit slicked finger against his sphincter muscles. Circling. Sliding inside. A gorgeous flutter against his prostate. John stifled a gasp. The door was locked, but this room wasn't soundproofed. His back arched up as he felt another finger press in. They scissored slowly. Gently. Languidly. Taking their time to brush and stretch.

John almost did whimper when the fingers were removed and the bunk shifted as Sherlock slid off of it. He almost opened his eyes. Waited instead as Sherlock told the replicator, "10 cc of Risean lubricant. High viscosity." After a moment, he added, "Beach towel."

The bunk creaked as Sherlock climbed back onto it. His fingers resumed their glide, newly slicked, and added a third finger.

John wanted to say that he was ready. He wanted to speak. But he didn't. He bit his lower lip and held all words at bay.

A fourth finger.

Twisting and turning. Rubbing his prostate constantly. He came with a muffled cry. Slumping limp and boneless. Feeling as if he were floating above his body. As if tension had been a gravity generator holding him down. Found the will to whisper, "More."

He dimly felt Sherlock remove his fingers. Floating. The gentle lift as Sherlock lowered them both from the creaking bunk to the beach towel on the floor. Floating. Felt as his legs were lifted over Sherlock's shoulders. The sound of flesh being slicked.

Sherlock cock brushed against the loosened muscles. John's eyes flew open as even well and truly stretched, Sherlock's thick cock pushed inside. Stretched him. Burned him. Filling him. Sherlock slowly pushed deeper and deeper. John's toes curling as he felt Sherlock's length all the way up to his spine. Curled his spine in response.

Keened, as Sherlock began to move. Stroking gently. Both their breaths coming faster and faster. John could feel Sherlock's knot swelling at just the edge of sphincter muscles. Pressing against, but not pushed inside. Was dimly glad of it as it expanded. Sherlock came inside of him. Held him. His arms around John. Their hearts thundering.

When their heartbeats slowed, Sherlock pulled so carefully, so gently away. Laid John on the bunk like something precious. John watched him go to the replicator. Dispose of the lube, and the towel, and return with a hot flannel. It cooled itself on John's skin, before Sherlock put John back into his clothes. Put him back together again.

John said the only thing he could think of. "Thank you."

Sherlock kissed his forehead. He climbed back onto the bunk. They lay there listening to each other breathe until there was a tentative knock on the door and a plaintive request through the com from Owen. "Commander, could you unlock the door? If you know, you're done in there. It's just the toilet is on your side of the door."


	4. Sherlock POV

They were four days out of DS9 when they received word that the station had been taken over by Cardassians.

Tregennis groaned. "It's at least six days to the nearest Starbase."

"Don't sweat it," said Hunter, adjusting some controls. "Plenty of time for them to kick the Cardassians off the base."

Sherlock glanced back at John, who certainly seemed more alert the last day or so. John hadn't initiate more coitus, but they had shared a bunk with John each time John slept.

True to Hunter's predictions, they received word two hours from DS9 that the station was back under Federation control.

They were greeted in the docking bay by Sisko, who had opted for whatever reason to shave his head and grow a goatee since last they'd been on station. "Welcome back to DS9! You'll have to forgive the dust. We've just retaken the station."

John stirred next to him and said something. It was nonsense, but it was something. "I've been trying your father's recipe for Crawfish Étouffée, but I can't quite make it work."

Sisko smiled widely. "There's a special ingredient in the filé, which I'm sworn to secrecy about."

John licked his lips. Caught in a sense memory.

Sisko was caught in the same. Shook his head. "But what brings you here and in such a packed shuttle?"

Sherlock supposed it was his tedious duty to respond. "Every Augment in the fleet has been given general orders to report to the nearest Starbase." He spread his hands. "We thought it best to report in here."

"Really." Sisko strode over to a monitor and tapped a few controls. He scrolled through a series of messages. "We've been so busy that I haven't had a chance to check… yes, Doctor Bashir was supposed to report to custody." He lifted his chin. "I can't say as I think much of an order that targets an entire population." He spread his hands wide as if lifting a large light object. "Consider yourselves in custody. I'll have Major Kira assign you quarters while I find out just what Command thinks it's doing."

"Benjamin, as you may remember, our ship has more Augments than um… most," said Lucy, peeking from behind the other crew members, pushing her stroller with a sleepy Eva in it. "Not that I want to push a family connection, but, well, you're a parent. You know."

Sisko's brow wrinkled. He looked down. "Hey, there, Eva." His tone changing in that way humans so often did when confronted with evidence of their fellow Human's reproductive success. "She's grown so much in the last few months."

"I'm told they do that at this age." Lucy smiled wryly. "If I could, I'd like to use your communications array to send a message to Andor. I want to make sure that my contacts in the Andorian government know we're here in case we need backup."

"I will also need to make some contacts," said Yao. There were multiple indicators that this was not a communication that she desired to make.

"By all means," said Sisko. They made their way around exposed cables and downed panels. There was evidence of extensive fighting and damage. Disruptor burns on the walls and floor. Gouges out of metal where explosive devices had been set off.

John engaged in a discussion about the relative merits of various root vegetables when making rue with Sisko. As Sherlock recalled, they'd had a variation on this conversation before.

It was the most animation Sherlock had seen from John since his father's death.

Sherlock stood back. It was good to see John talking about his obsession with hand made things.

In the theme of hand made goods that could just as easily be replicated, Sherlock went to Mr. Garak's shop.

He walked into a narrow room, where the Cardassian was clearing debris from the floor. Garak said, "I'm sorry not open for business just yet." He looked up, his gaze sliding from Sherlock's feet to his head. "But," he stood up, "for a customer such as yourself, I could make an exception. I had hoped you'd come in before now, but better beautifully clothed now than never. Especially given the nature of the the orders regarding Augments." Given that Garak was not in Starfleet, the fact that he'd heard anything about these orders was interesting.

Garak picked up a cloth tape measure.

"Wouldn't a scanner be more efficient?" Sherlock had very little idea about how clothing was made, but a physical device had to be inefficient.

"Yes, but far less enjoyable," said Garak, bending by Sherlock's left leg and laying the cloth tape along side his hip to his ankle.

"Lieutenant Commander Martha Hudson suggested that I come see you."

Garak pushed Sherlock's legs apart. "I'm sure she did. I have many satisfied customers." He measured the inside length of Sherlock's leg. "You have a nice long inseam. It'll be a pleasure to make you a suit or perhaps something less formal for lounging around in."

Sherlock was about say that this was the closest Garak was getting to his inseam when Garak said, "May we expect another visit from your brother?"

Sherlock watched him carefully. "No."

Garak wrapped the tape around Sherlock's waist and hummed. "He's come by the station before. When you were a more frequent visitor. An interesting gentleman." Garak measured Sherlock's chest. He really was a tailor given the tiny needle marks on the pads of his fingers, the small tufts of thread clinging to his trouser legs, and the speed with which he was measuring Sherlock's body, but he also hadn't turned his back once to the open door.

"Do you know why we've been ordered here?"

Garak reached up and wrapped the tape around Sherlock's neck. Held it there. "Why would I know anything? I'm just a tailor."

"An interesting tailor interested in having the thoroughly dull relatives of interesting people owe him favors." If Garak wished to have more dealings with his brother, then Sherlock wished them joy of each other. He would send a message and leave it at that.

Garak removed the tape from around Sherlock's neck and measured the breadth of Sherlock's shoulders. "I may have heard a rumor that Starfleet has misplaced some very historical prisoners they had in cryo storage and they suspect that an Augment helped liberate them." Garak measured the height of Sherlock's torso. "An interesting period in human history, the Eugenics Wars, and their subsequent dabble in Augmented Warcraft. I had reason to look up both when I met the good Doctor Bashir. What a dangerous weapon to have lost, don't you think?"

_Sherlock ran through the portrait gallery. Mummy's portrait said, "You should have known that this was all about me." Mummy's image stood up from the image of their painted throne._

_Mycroft's portrait, with Mycroft the II standing in front of a more abstracted portrait of Mycroft the I, said in a doubled voice, as he sometimes did when the situation called for additional thought, "Starfleet summoned every Augment in the fleet. Therefore, they don't know when Mummy was freed. Check to see if they are also questioning any Augment, who has left the service. If there are any records for how the site was accessed. When was the last audit of those records completed? That will establish your timeframe for when you need an alibi.."_

_"You're vulnerable on the defense," said his first father, "you should attack their procedures. Question the intelligence of the auditors. Question their loyalty. Divert. Obfuscate."_

_"Given John's reaction to finding out that his father did what had to be done in a crisis," said his second father, "you know what his response will be to finding out about us. You'll lose him." The inevitable follow up, "You should return home. You should never have left. You are the spear tip of alliance."_

_Sherlock had known better than to come to the portraits. "Obvious."_

_If the truth came out, he would also lose the career he'd spent years building. The life he had built for himself. But that was less important than John. He could always start again. There was only one John._

_He didn't go to John's odalisque. He didn't go look at John's wing._

He blinked.

Garak was typing onto a pad. "You're back. Excellent. Now with your coloring, I see you in forest green. Jewel tones. But really, clothing is such an… intimate item. Covering as it does our naked selves with who we wish to be. Tell me, what are your preferences? Do you prefer tightly fitted clothing that follows the contours of your body, constricts and controls your movements, or something more flowing? Free and easy with…" Garak made a note on his pad, "hints of exposed skin."

Sherlock hadn't come into the shop with any intention of getting anything. He should be focused on any method he could think of to distract John from even remotely associating Sherlock with the Khans, but there were other ways of distracting John. "Both." Then given Garak's expression, he added, "to be worn in my quarters with my partner."

"Ah," sighed Garak. "Pity. I'll pull up some designs while you contact your sibling."


	5. John POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shall be quoting trek. See end notes.

It was good to talk about cooking. John ended up having dinner with Lucy, Eva, Benjamin, and his son, Jake, after Sherlock disappeared who knew where. John didn't particularly want to go to the quarters he'd been assigned.

Jake fussed over Eva. Lucy and Eva were cousins on his mother's side. Eva claimed to remember Jake, and told him a story with Flopsy. It took up much of the conversation until Lucy took Eva off to bed, and Jake went to sleep. 

John and Benjamin sat in the living area, still curling with the smell of spices, talking. Sipping Bajoran Hapserat. Reveling in the hot and spicy flavor.

In that darkened space with someone that he considered a friend, John admitted, "My father died a few weeks ago. Was killed. Was guilty of some… pretty bad things."

It was the first time he'd said the words.

Instead of platitudes, Benjamin hummed a soft reply.

"I found out..." John was going to see this through, "I don't know if you've ever heard of it. I never had, but he was the commander at a colony where there was some sort of fungal plague that destroyed all their food. They were out of supplies so he..." John looked down at his cup, breathed in heat and spice, "he executed half the colony so there'd be enough supplies for the rest of... I don't understand how anyone could do that. My father. And I never even saw it. Sherlock saw it. He warned me. He tried to tell me. How could I not see it? And my sister, my twin, she was killing people to cover it up. Shot our father by accident. Maybe if I'd been there, I could have stopped it. Sherlock doesn't think so, but maybe if I'd gone home more, or never left, I could have kept her from falling into... the dark."

Benjamin poured a dose of whiskey into John's Hasperat and then a generous pour into his own.

They sat in silence for a while, until John wondered if Benjamin had heard him. Benjamin said, "My mother always told us that it's easy to be a saint in paradise. On Earth, there's no poverty, little crime, and no war. Look out the window and see paradise. She's right. It's easy to be a saint when everything is taken care of. Out in these spaces where war and hunger haven't been held at bay, there are just people. Angry, scared, determined people trying to survive. "

"I…" John looked up at the African masks on the walls. A framed image of Martin Luther King walking over a bridge at the head of a crowd next to a first edition of _Twelve Years a Slave_ in a shadow box. A captured image of Gabriel Bell from his data transmission during the Sanctuary Riots of 2024. All familiar. He'd been to dinner at Benjamin's many times.

"I should say that my step-mother says that. As I recently found out that she's not my birth mother."

John sipped his Hasperat. Felt the flush of the whiskey.

"The Prophets," John had never heard Benjamin call them anything other than wormhole entities, "ensured that my biological mother and father would meet, and that I would be born. That I would be their Emissary. To the point of a Prophet taking over the mind and body of an innocent woman. That Prophet pretended that she was falling in love with my father, married him, waited until a year after I was born, then they released her. She must have been terrified and confused as to what had happened." Benjamin sighed. John sighed with him. "It's difficult not to want to assume responsibility." He turned his cup in his hands. "For things neither of us had any control over."

"Yeah," said John taking a drink. Spicy. Strong. Heat leaching into his hands and throat. "It is."

Benjamin put his cup aside. "You mentioned Commander Holmes a few times talking about your family."

John braced himself for yet another person to tell him that he was involved with Sherlock.

"You should tell him what you've told me," was not what he expected to hear.

"He already knows." John shrugged. "He knows everything just by looking at a person."

"So, I've seen. But unless he's actively telepathic," Benjamin paused, "he's not is he? Because sometimes it's hard to tell. Never mind. It doesn't matter." He picked up his cup and took a sip. "It sounds as if you need to tell him."

John opened his mouth to protest and closed it.

Suddenly tired, grey fog flirting with edges of him. There wasn't enough spice or heat in the world to hold it back. He called it a night.

John's quarters were a bit of Federation home. They looked like one of Khel's designs. He'd have to ask her when he got back to the Bakerstreet. If he got back. If she returned. If he'd be able to face Sh'Alaack after what his father had done. After what his sister had tried to do.

Sherlock was sitting on the floor next to John's narrow bed. Naked. Wearing a leather collar. "Good evening, Master."

John had a source of warmth and life right there. A way to stop thinking.

He pounced on that source. Soon they were grappling with each other. Scratching. Teeth scraping skin. Catching moans with mouths. John pushing back against Sherlock. Thundered against the naked steel of the outer hull wall. There was no sound in space. Although, anyone standing near the door would have heard their shouts and groans. The sound of their bodies slamming rhythmically against the bulkhead.

They were a hungry two backed beast. A space alien spending its energy back into itself. Until John slid down weak legged. Flopped down on a bed that was far too narrow for two people. Although, Sherlock, ever the genius, figured it out.

This was better than talking any day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Line about easy to be a saint is from   
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/The_Maquis,_Part_II_(episode)  
> Sisko's mom  
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Image_in_the_Sand_(episode)  
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Shadows_and_Symbols_(episode)  
> Although, lest anyone think I'm about to go that route, there will be no Pah-wraith in this series, because that may be my least favorite plot line on DS9. But it's in keeping with all the dubious/non-consent, etc. reproduction.   
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Gabriel_Bell


	6. Sherlock POV

The next morning Sherlock was ordered to report to the station security office. He did not go to his memory palace to think.

He kissed John for what he would not allow to be the last time, and left to be questioned.

There were four beings there when he arrived: Sisko, the changeling Odo, a Captain – _Beta human, male, scent indicated a skin condition being treated with Alianan lotion, posture indicated sedentary habits_ , a Lieutenant, who was looking intently at a pad – _Beta human female, callouses on her right hand and posture indicating she was there for security rather than documentation_.

The Captain said, "Captain Sisko, as I've said before, this is a matter for Internal Affairs. My preference would be for all of the suspects, including your Doctor Bashir, to be brought into custody and questioned by myself and Lieutenant Palmer to maintain confidentiality."

"And as I have said," said Sisko pulling himself up straighter, "Captain Killander, the Federation is governed by due process and laws. Until you can present more evidence other than these personnel happen to have been born Augments, they'll remain confined to base and on their own recognizance. Constable Odo and myself will be present during questioning to ensure you don't attempt to infringe on their rights. Putting on this uniform did not mean they stopped being Federation citizens. Have I made myself clear!"

"For the record. I agree," said Odo dryly and in a less oratorial style. "You've presented no evidence that any of these people had anything do with the disappearance of a three hundred year old war criminal  from Starfleet custody."

Killander glared at Sisko. “I thought we had agreed to keep the nature of the charges a secret.”

“You stated, and as I answered, Commander Holmes has the clearly defined right as stated in the Sixth Amendment to the Federation Constitution to legal counsel, which currently would be Odo and myself. He has the right to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation. Which is having something to do with the disappearance of Khan Brittanus and his followers from Starfleet custody.”

"The charge is collusion! Mutiny! Treason!" Killander's lips twisted as he spat out, "Violating Earth statutes dating back to the Eugenics War." He pointed his finger at Sherlock.  "Only an Augment would want to free that violent criminal, and only someone in Starfleet would have had the access."

"I've read the file on Khan," said Sisko. "I could list a dozen governments who would want access to his skill sets including, apparently, our own."

Sherlock perhaps shouldn't have laughed, but really, it was ridiculous.

"You think this is funny." Captain Killander's eyes narrowed.

"I think it's amusing that the organization responsible for intelligence gathering did not notice something that occurred years ago."

The lieutenant continued to look at her pad.

"And how could you possibly know that unless you were involved?" asked Killander.

Sherlock scoffed. "Don't insult my intelligence. You've ordered every Augment in the fleet to report to a Starbase. I've learned through outside sources that there are orders to question any Augment, who has been a member of Starfleet and has left the service. Not only do you not have a specific suspect, but you don't have a specific timeframe for when the cryo chambers were liberated of their cargo." His words came faster and faster. "If you had a suspect, you'd only be questioning those personnel who were in the general proximity to that base. Also, you have no concept of a motive other than vague genetic solidarity, or you wouldn't be requiring that Doctor Bashir be brought into custody given his augmentation is entirely unrelated to the original experiments." He drew himself up to his full height and arched an eyebrow. "That's enough to go on for now I should think."

_He could hear his first father shouting from the hall of portraits, "The best defense is attack, attack, attack."_

"Commander Holmes," started Captain Killander.

"Excellent, you've correctly identified me. I wasn't certain that was within your limited powers of observation."

Sisko coughed. "Perhaps we should sit."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fine."

Odo muttered, "Holmes lives up to his reputation once again."

Once they sat down, Killander drummed his fingers on the desk next to him. "In Commander Holmes case, our interest is far more than general. Palmer." The lieutenant held up her pad. It displayed the image of Khan Brittanus that had been circulated when Section 31 had been pretending he was a civilian contractor. "An uncanny resemblance to Khan wouldn't you say. How do you explain it?"

Sherlock sprawled back in his seat. Feeling reckless with so much to lose. Attack. Attack. Attack. "You've caught me. I am Khan Brittanus. My diabolically evil plan was to join Starfleet, spend years at research facilities focusing on exobiology, write reports on how to defeat the Borg, have my work ignored, be consigned to teaching, go on my own recognizance to stop the Borg from assimilating Earth, and be given the command of a hastily built exploratory vessel. How horrible my plans to seek out new life and new civilizations have been foiled by an intelligence agency with poor record keeping."

"You had something to do with what stopped the Borg," said Sisko very quietly. "Command was very hush, hush on the details. You've hinted a few times, but… I thought I was imaging things."

"Yes." Sherlock fumed. It wasn't that he wanted recognition beyond his due, but the opportunity to publish based on the confirmation of his theories would be acceptable. To be able to present at a conference if only to other Starfleet personnel. "Yet another mission that has been declared classified. Doctor Watson's help was invaluable." Because it was important that they know that. "But if I hadn't been sidelined and ignored, the battle of Wolf 359 could have been avoided."

"Is this true?" asked Sisko, turning to Killander.

"Irrelevant," snapped Killander.

"Relevant to the question of if he's this Khan you're talking about," said Odo. "Saving the Earth doesn't match Khan's profile."

"I wasn't claiming that he was Khan Brittanus," said Killander, "Merely that Commander Holmes bears an uncanny resemblance to him." He taped the image. "Uncanny. We know from the DNA analysis that you went through when you joined Starfleet that your mitochondrial DNA match Augments produced by the old United Kingdom,"

"Each nation’s signature so to speak," drawled Sherlock.

"And that you are in the ninety-ninth percentile of the human population for augmented markers in your DNA."

"And am I a match for Khan Brittanus?" A risk, but a worthwhile one. Attack. Attack. Attack. "You can scan me if you'd like." He folded his hands. "I'll wait."

Killander said through gritted teeth, "The records on Khan’s DNA analysis were purged to prevent them from being declassified fifty years ago."

Sherlock knew as much. Had planned on it when he'd made his application to the academy, but he had always wondered if some record had been kept and simply had not been correlated with his DNA analysis.

"Then do you have a point?" asked Sherlock. He wished John were there to keep him steady. But no, John was better far from this discussion.

"My point is that given your resemblance, and the comments in your record about your extreme arrogance..."

"Warranted by my genius," corrected Sherlock. "Although, is it genius if everyone else is an idiot?"

Odo sighed.

Killander raised his voice, "And that given that you're descended from the same group of Augments as Khan Brittanus..."

"So, is every British Augment is a suspect? I also have Indic and North American augmented ancestors. Are those groups suspects too? Will you be calling in every Augment in those groups next? Or are they fine because the sleeper ships for the lost Khans are still lost." Certainly, Sherlock had good reason to know why the Federation had never found them.

Killander raised his voice further. "Given all that, it is likely that you felt an affinity for him. An affinity that led you to free Khan."

Sherlock leaned halfway back over his chair. He asked the ceiling, "When was the last time you did an audit of Khan's cryo chamber?" Dull to have to follow Mycroft's advice.

"That's irrelevant to this investigation," said Killander.

"I would think it would be very relevant," said Odo. "It would establish the timeframe for when the Commander would have needed to have access to the site in question. If he can establish an alibi, which should be a simple matter of checking the Bakerstreet’s logs, that would eliminate him."

Killander flushed bright red. Eyes bulging slightly. His rapid heartbeat clear at this close distance.

Sisko leaned forward. "Sites containing hazardous materials, such as the contents of cryo chambers, are required to be audited for safety at least annually. When was the last audit?"

The lieutenant said, "There wasn't one." She took back the pad from Killander. "There was a jurisdictional disagreement as to which department was responsible. We only performed one now because there was a reorganization when Admiral Henry took over… Internal Affairs."

"Lieutenant Palmer, you are insubordinate!" said Captain Killander.

"Sir, I was at the battle of Wolf 359," said the lieutenant, sitting very stiffly in her chair.

"So, was I," said Sisko. "My wife died in that battle leaving me raise our son without his mother. And now I'm hearing that we could have prevented not only her death, but saved the lives of over eleven thousand brave Starfleet officers."

"Not! Relevant!" said Killander, growing if anything redder.

"What seems to me to be very relevant is you have thus far failed to establish a timeframe for when you did or did not have Khan in custody," said Odo. The shapeshifter was sitting very straight. Very intent. Sherlock knew that expression. He'd worn it himself. There was someone who loved puzzles and that had been presented with a mysterious box. Dangerous given the circumstances. "For all you know, Khan was taken hours after he was frozen following his attack on San Francisco a century ago. There would have been plenty of Federation citizens wanting revenge. The Klingons as well for that matter. Have you looked into the historical access records? Examined patterns of behavior that were outside the norm?"

Killander was silent.

Sisko steepled his hands. "Lieutenant, can you provide us with the access logs?"

"Only for the last twenty years," said the Lieutenant. "The retention policy has us purge access records older than that."

"There you have it," said Captain Sisko. "Examine that. Did Holmes access the facility in the last twenty years?"

"A man of Commander Holmes' skill could easily have modified the records. And there is also his planet of origin. Corindium IV. How convenient that all their computer records were destroyed in an e-pulse."

"Ha," grunted Constable Odo. "True. If all the sentient beings claiming to be from Corindium IV were actually from Corindium IV, then the population would have numbered in the billions." He eyed Sherlock suspiciously. "In my experience, it means the Commander has a secret."

"Which is not necessarily related to what we're discussing," said Sisko. "It's a slippery slope when we begin to question every citizen's right to privacy in the interests of the public good. Especially when society always finds a way to target," his smile was fierce, "vulnerable populations first."

"I am not the one here to be questioned," said Killander, visibly gathering himself. "Now, Commander Holmes, let's start at the beginning when you joined Starfleet. I see there were four records of visits to England. Why did you visit London? I need an account for your every moment."

Sherlock held his hands to his lips. He'd archived those visits in the ancillary memory tower. They'd been scientific in nature.

Mummy's old home was nothing to him. Also, the specific location had been destroyed in an explosion.

He opened his eyes and said, "Let us begin."

If he smiled slightly as he said it, the nature of the joke was hanging in the portrait gallery in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of simplicity (and because I have no familiarity with British law unless it has something to do with the history of the English language - History of English podcast, brilliant stuff), the 6th Amendment to the Federation Constitution is the same as the 6th Amendment in the US Bill of Rights. So, if the wording sounds familiar, it is because I have lifted it.  
> https://www.law.cornell.edu/constitution/sixth_amendment  
> "Let us begin," is from ST:ID, as spoken by Khan Cumberbatch.


	7. John POV

John sighed. Checked the time. Sherlock had been gone for hours.

Eventually, he got his own summons.

Benjamin was there. Odo. Some prick from Internal Affairs, Killander. A pretty Lieutenant named Palmer.

As soon as he came through the door, Benjamin shook his hand of all things. "I don't know the details, but I want to thank you for what you did stopping the Borg."

John blinked. That had been so long ago. So many adventures, but it had been the first. The most important. He'd almost forgotten about it.

Saving Earth.

Saving billions of people. Arguably trillions as the Borg would hardly have stopped at Earth.

He might have a killer in him, but that history was in him too. Still honesty compelled him to say, "It was mostly Sherlock. I followed him around and shot at Borg once things got…"

"Lieutenant!" said Killander. "That mission is classified."

"What mission?" Suddenly, John was furious on Sherlock’s behalf. Everyone should know what an amazing thing Sherlock had done. "We had no orders. We went in a ship that Sherlock built. More of a modified photon torpedo. Tight for two grown men. Used tech he came up with. Something to do with Borg being like ants that could be programmed into thinking other Borg were part of a different collective and attacking each other. His whole theory was that biological life is like that. Attacking things that are different." He looked at Benjamin. "It strange now to think about it. We argued on the way back, because I didn't think the Federation was like that, but," he looked around the security office in which he now found himself, "not far off from the truth."

"We're not here to discuss irrelevant history," said Killander. "Instead, we should talk about Kodos, the executioner, your father. Were you were aware that the investigation after his crime showed that he targeted certain colonists? Certain non Augmented colonists for execution?"

"No." John felt the fog beckon, but really, this was no time to be foggy. "I never knew he was anything other than Karidian Watson. I only knew a man who loved Andorian folk music, Vulcan epigrams, and Human poetry. Who loved Shakespeare and Austen. Who once spent several years doing Telarite dinner theater so I could have a better life. Who actually liked Telarite theater because he loved how funny it is. How at the end of one of those plays, people were happy and fed." It felt good to remind himself that that had been part of his father too.

Benjamin brought him up to speed on the nature of the charges. The lack of evidence.

Killander went a few rounds going on about his father. Then went on about Harry's murderers. It was like going through an emotional meat grinder.

But when it came to being asked to account for his whereabouts when he was at the academy, he thought suddenly of his old roommate, Bill. Telling him that he had to be a model student or he'd be judged. He leaned back in his chair. Licked his lips and smiled. "I was at the top of my class. I spent a lot of time studying. At the library. The Celenium Chapel."

Lieutenant Palmer looked up when he mentioned the well-known campus hook up spot.

Killander, it figured, had no idea what went on at the chapel. "The logs show that you left campus frequently. What were you doing? Making contacts with other Augment dissidents?"

"I was getting a leg over at the space port." He rolled his eyes and looked at Benjamin, and coughed. "I um… for various reasons my family kept a close eye on me when I was younger. When I got to the academy, I ah…" he tried to think through the regulations, but there were no rules – for good reason – why students couldn't fraternize, "I was pretty active on campus too. I could list any number of former umm… friends. They can back me up that I was… um… busy with them."

"Getting a leg over," said Odo. "That may be a difficult alibi to establish."

John spread his hands. "Get me a copy of the yearbook rolls and I'll… "

"Fuck! You're that John Watson!" exclaimed Lieutenant Palmer. She flushed. "I um… I'm a friend of M'Kalla." John tried to place the name. She said, "He's Caitian if that helps. And yeah, he remembers you. He quit the academy to become a warrior poet for a couple of months after you hooked up. He only signed back up again because the Ground Troop division was offering credit bonuses for heavy gravity worlders and um...I... ah... was a couple of years behind you at the academy, but you were kind of a legend. There were poems about you in the stalls in the Celenium Chapel bathroom."

"A Caitian," said Benjamin dubiously.

"Certainly speaks for non-xenophobic tendencies if true," said Odo very dryly.

John tried to summon some embarrassment, but really, as long as his relationship with Sherlock didn't come up – for which there were rules against – he was fine with it.

"This may take a while. We should probably get some coffee first."

Palmer brought him a cup and sat next to him. "Please sir, be very detailed. For the official record."

He was years out of practice, but he gave her a wink, and looking at Killander, said, "Oh, I intend to be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This certainly isn’t why I wrote John’s academy experience as I did. But when I reached this scene, having planned for this sort of thing to occur, it was one of those writing moments where the character said, "Hold my beer, the conversation would go like this."


	8. Sherlock POV

All told they wasted a month on DS9.

Sherlock expected Mycroft to be forced to tell him to sod off, but he didn't.

Everyone was questioned.

Although it spoke to Killander's incompetence that he couldn't even uncover that Lucy Hebron had had a child. It was not part of Killander's world view of the possible, and based on Lucy's account he followed a line of questioning accordingly.

Khatri indicated that Killander had thought that Khatri's age was incorrect in her official Starfleet record until she was sitting in front of him. She had, however, come prepared with references from her former university connections, her grandson, and many cousins on Earth. A benefit of being one of the last to be questioned.

Both she and Sun were questioned extensively about their interest in the sciences. Since it would seem that Killander thought that would particularly cause an Augment to break into a secure facility or join Augment dissidents, which he had offered no proof as to their existence beyond ranting about a significant rise in the disappearances of omegas in the last three decades.

Bailey said, "It was as if he took an urban myth about Augments being sold into sexual slavery by pick your alien race, and then turned it into some sort of Augment plot. It was bizarre."

Tregennis had the shortest set of interviews. As it happened, he'd met Killander's mother during his previous career working on starliners.

Yao said only, "The scope of their questioning can only grow if we do not cut it off."

Sherlock went through multiple rounds of questioning. His interest in science. His curiosity. His very self was at question. Sherlock would soon wear a groove from pacing the floor in the security office.

Fortunately, John was only called in once.

Unfortunately, word about how John had kept himself busy at the academy, Sherlock had to drive off seven separate offers by various species for John to visit the holosuite with them. There was an offer by the Ferengi owner of the largest bar on DS9 for John to get one – no three – no five – free visits if he would endorse the quality of entertainment in his holosuites.

It was tedious trying to repress the Ferengi, who made far too many follow up suggestions, which appeared to amuse the Augments from the Bakerstreet to no end. Sherlock could do without Khatri commenting on John's great game. Although, Lucy pulled him aside to explain that much of the amusement was just nerves.

Worst yet that Sherlock had to go to his own quarters from time to time to make it appear as if someone was staying in them. A muttered suggestion from Bashir.

Garak insisted on delivering his clothing order in person to Sherlock's assigned quarters. Garak looked around the room. "I'd have expected to see your good doctor here."

"No reason you should," said Sherlock dully. The galaxy was dull. He was stuck in an old Cardassian mining facility answering questions until time ended, and John was being wooed by half the station.

Garak put down a case. "Oh, I wouldn't be concerned. You've driven off all the competition so far and very efficiently. And once your doctor friend sees you in these new clothes, I'm certain he'll only have one thing on his mind." He opened his case. "Speaking of which, strip please. I'll need to do a final fitting." He laid out the red silk robe. "I assure you my interest is purely professional. I want to make sure you have the best fit possible."

Garak was exacting about fit.

Tedious.

More rounds of Killander repeated the same questions. Sherlock hated repeating himself.

Two weeks more weeks and new orders arrived. Killander's questioning had found sufficient issues with Sherlock, Soo Lin Yao, and Doctor Bashir's testimonies for them all to report for further inquiry on Earth.

Sisko convened a planning dinner, which appeared to involve planning and dinner, which at least made John happy.

"You're not going without me," said John. Firmly. Stoically. With that little lift to his chin that made Sherlock's heart stop a beat.

"Captain, isn't there anything you can do?" asked Bashir.

Sisko scraped his fork on his plate. "I'm not letting any of you go anywhere without someone advocating for you. I'm sure there are some additional repairs that would require the Daedalus to get a once over at the Utopia Planitia shipyards, and she's four times faster than the shuttle Killander arrived in."

Yao had been quiet thus far. "It will not go well. They want us to prove a negative." She toyed with a bean. Spun it around and around with the tip of her butter knife. She smiled quietly. "They'll keep trying until they find something that supports their own ideas." She pointed the knife at Bashir. "Prove that you weren't complicit in getting your Augmentations?" She pointed the knife pointed at Sherlock. She smiled softly. Flipped the knife once. She pointed the knife at herself. "Prove that I didn't heal from shuttlecraft injuries because Khan healed me with… his magic blood." She pointed at Jake. "Prove that there is not a teapot orbiting the Sol system's sun."

"I can't," said Jake. "It's orbiting between Venus and Mercury. The tea pot is both short and stout. But," he tapped Eva's nose, "there is no sugar."

Eva giggled.

Sherlock ignored the rest of that exchange.

Yao was correct. The burden of proof was being put upon them to prove that something had not occurred. Difficult, if not impossible under the circumstances.

Sisko was saying something. Bashir responded.

_Sherlock paced the entryway of his Memory Palace, thinking. Unable a way to see out of this situation, but to go forward and deeper in._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where the teapot thing comes from:  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russell%27s_teapot  
> And because this is my least favorite kind of argument (Wait, I have to prove something didn't happen. Ugh.), I have kindly given the problem to Sherlock.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burden_of_proof_(philosophy)#Proving_a_negative


	9. John POV

The 221B with the Augments who had been released from questioning, and headed back to the Bakerstreet while the Deadalus prepared to take off.

John spoke with Sherlock before they left. It would be best if Sherlock bunked with Yao on the Daedalus. While John bunked, with Lucy and Eva, who were coming along for moral and tactical support.

Killander going to be on board ship with them. They could not afford for him to have an extra tool to use against them.

Sherlock silently agreed.

John hid his box of data crystals behind an air vent in sickbay. He wondered what would happen to them if he never returned. A mystery for whomever decommissioned this ship he supposed.

He was coming back.

He was going to make sure no one took a closer look at Sherlock's blood or genetics or whatever was going on with him that kept regenerating parts of John's reproductive system. Which wasn't the sort of secret Starfleet needed anyway. He was also going to make sure no one did a brain scan on Sherlock. They didn't need to know about the damage that had been done to Sherlock as a child.

They were halfway to Earth when the Daedalus' chief engineer came to John in some distress. "Please, you've got to do something about Commander Holmes. He's started talking about upgrading the engine." She shook her head. "Our engine doesn't need an upgrade. I don't understand half of what he and Lieutenant Yao are saying."

John wasn't certain what she thought he could do about. Sherlock never listened when someone told him no. But he gave it his best.

He pulled Sherlock into a crawl space in the engine room. "Sherlock, I want you to think about what you want to have if you don't modify the engines."

Sherlock said, "But they're operating inefficiently. If I modify the…ah." He stopped talking about warp cores when John opened his flies and gave him a blow job, and started talking about what John could do with his teeth and tongue, and then stopped talking after John deep throated him.

They arrived on Earth with the engines unmodified, and John had a far greater familiarity with the ship's Jeffries tubes than he'd expected.

When they arrived at Earth, new orders came down. Sherlock, Yao, and Bashir were to report with Killander to a Starfleet facility in London.

Sherlock said, "London. Now that is interesting."

"Oh," said Bashir holding a vid-book to his chest as if it was made of lead. "Yes, I see."

"Err… why?" asked John. London was a city. On Earth. Starfleet had facilities all over Earth.

Soo-Lin leaned over. "Section 31 is based in London."

"Section 31 is a myth," said John. "People like to talk about it, but…"

Soo-Lin patted his arm.

John told himself that it would fine. He picked up a bag with a few medical journals. Repeated it was going to be fine. Went to join Sherlock, because where Sherlock was going, John was going and that was how it was going to be full stop.

Benjamin met them in the transporter room and promised that he'd be following up with the Starfleet Judge Advocate General.

Killander smiled coldly. "There's nothing the JAG office will be able to do." He glared at John. "You've haven't been ordered to come with us."

Maybe John shouldn't have punched him, but after everything it certainly felt good.

He ended up beaming down after all.

Every crewman and officer was wearing black insignia. Soo-Lin said, "Still think Section 31 is a myth."

Killander, blood still trickling from his lower lip, swapped out his insignia for black insignia as well. "You're going to have a long time to regret that punch."

They were taken down of a dozen levels. Down brightly lit corridors. Turned around. Their belongings were taken from them. "Give me a slip at least," said John. "Some of those journals weren't easy to get ahold of."

Sherlock took his wrist. "Let it go, John. It's not important."

John grumbled. Bashir said, "Be careful with that book." The guard sneered at him and dropped the vid-book into a storage box, which was placed on a shelf.

They were taken through a door that required two keycards to enter, and then finally into a cell with a toilet hole in the floor and that was it for furnishings.

A guard turned on the force field and left the room. They were alone.

John looked up at the camera. "Clearly, we're meant to start spilling all our secrets now."

He looked at Sherlock, but Sherlock was already sitting against a wall doing that thing where he disappeared into his head. "Okay, then," said John.

He looked at Bashir. "Too bad they took the books."

Bashir laughed and started talking about a paper he'd read about neuro-restimulation in patients with spinal issues.

Which was fine. Soo-Lin talked about bio-nets in some of the newer ships. Sherlock continued to stare at the ceiling. The hours past. No one came. The light levels didn't change. John ended up falling asleep on the floor.

He groggily blinked awake to see Odo standing in front of the force field controls. "What?"

"He was the book, John. It would seem Doctor Bashir and Odo came up with an additional plan," said Sherlock.

No had mentioned Odo was on the ship. Which fine, keep things from Killander, but John's back had a crick in it and it wasn't on to keep things from them.

Bashir said, "Did you loop the feed?"

Odo snorted and gave Bashir a look. "Of course. I've also identified the level where the cryo chamber were kept." He handed each of them tricorders. "As we suspected, Khan was being held at same facility he was held at originally, a hundred years ago."

"Where did you get the tricorders?" said John, rubbing his eyes.

"Your bag, John." Sherlock huffed. "I slipped them in when Killander was bleeding from the punch you gave him. You nearly ruined things by wanting a slip for your belongings." His expression shifted to the glee of a mission. "Now, let's see if we can find some evidence. I have some thoughts."

"I'm sure you do, sir." Soo-Lin held back. "We can't all just walk around through the base."

Sherlock grinned and he winked at John.

John sighed. That meant Jeffries Tubes.


	10. Sherlock POV

It was brilliant. John's scent and heartbeat and expression all indicated his focus was on what they were doing.

There was something too easy about being brought to the very facility where they needed to be and that they'd been kept in a single cell, and that no other groups of Augments had been ordered transferred to Earth, or for that matter Bashir and Odo had not shared their plans – Sherlock's plan involved programming the tricorders to create a feedback loop that would have shut down power in key systems – but John was happy.

Sherlock had been right. All John needed was an adventure. Now Sherlock simply needed to ensure John didn't learn anything that would make him leave Sherlock.

They went down several levels until they came to a vast room full of metal shelves that were themselves covered in various item.

Yao went to a small monitor and typed rapidly. "This says that the cryo chambers are on aisle forty-three, shelf C, positions 6775 to 6998." She typed a few more controls. "I'll stay here and look through the access records to see if I can find anything else."

Odo remained with her.

Sherlock wasn't interested in looking through records for something that wasn't there. It was not as if the Breen had logged in as visitors when they'd absconded with Mummy. It had been a covert operations.

However, Breen transporters had a very particular signature with an incredibly slow decay rate. It would be Mycroft's problem to explain why the Breen had made off with a group of human Augments.

He searched for it the moment they arrived at position 6775. Not entirely easy, given he was looking for sub-atomic particles in a vast room of dust and other conflicting energy signatures from the various items in storage.

John looked up. "It would be on the third shelf." He and Bashir climbed up the ladder to the first cryo chamber. There was a hiss as they opened it. The whine of medical tricorders. "There's something in here."

Sherlock stopped looking for the signature quantum waves. He climbed up to where John was, pretending that his Augmentation wouldn't allow him to simply jump up to where John was. He looked inside the chamber.

Bashir said, "Yes, I'm seeing the same thing in the second chamber."

"It's empty," said Sherlock, who had every reason to know that it should be empty.

"No, there's organic matter in the cryo chamber filter as well as a layer of it on the bottom. They couldn't have looked very hard if they missed it." John grinned at Sherlock. "Like you always say, they saw, but they didn't observe."

Sherlock stared at him wide eyed.

"Huh, it's not often I get to explain things to you," John flashed a look at Bashir and mouthed, "Never." He continued, "We're seeing Human remains that have been subjected to a high energy flash and turned to ash."

"I think they used a Federation type two phaser on the highest setting," said Dr. Bashir, "but I'd need better equipment to tell."

John reached into the chamber to take a closer reading. "Khan didn't go anywhere." He waved his tricorder, "he's right here."

Sherlock did not say, "That's not possible." He did not say any number of things.

_He went to the Hall of Portraits. Mummy glared at him from the wall. "Yes, it's impossible. It's also true it's exactly the sort of thing I would have arranged. However, there's still no way to prove the negative. That you weren't involved in our murders."_

From far away, he heard, "Step away from the cryo chambers." He looked down to see some dozen Starfleet personnel pointing phasers at them. Odo was standing several feet back, holding a phaser on Yao.

She said, "It betrayed us."

"No," said Odo. "I waited for you to betray yourself." He looked up. "Doctor, did you find what you suspected?"

Bashir said, "There are disintegrated Human remains in at least four of the chambers I've searched."

Killander came running around a corner. "What is going on here?"

"We're doing your job," said Odo. "The one you don't appear to be particularly good at it."

Bashir, with nothing to hide about his augmentations, jumped to the ground easily.

Sherlock climbed down the ladder after John.

Odo said, "I looked into the backgrounds of all the Augmented personnel as soon as they came onboard DS9 for questioning. The only two with anything interesting in their background was Commander Holmes, who claims to be from Corindium IV, and Lieutenant Yao, who left Starfleet for medical reasons." Odo tilted his head. "You seem very fit Lieutenant for someone who was unable to walk when she left the service."

She sneered at him. "You don't know anything."

"I know that you're not really Soo-Lin Yao, whose level of augmentation was negligible at best." Constable Odo looked at Sherlock. "But that didn't eliminate Commander Holmes. I needed to see what you would both do when presented with an opportunity."

Bashir smiled a genial smile. "Section 31 tried to recruit me straight out of the academy. It wasn't for me." He bounced like a particularly friendly dog. "But I have a few contacts. Enough to arrange for the order for us be transferred to the same location where the cryo chambers were kept so we could see what's what." He shrugged. "All Holmes did when we got here was look for energy signatures."

"While Yao attempted to delete the record of a Petty Officer Forester's visit to this facility. Given Forester died at Wolf 359, her appearance two months later was impressive. Particularly since on the recording of her visit, Forester looks exactly like Yao. How unfortunate for you that the Starfleet retention policy for access records is twenty years, and not three."

Killander gapped like a dying fish. "Take this woman into custody."

"I've already taken care of that." Odo tilted their head. "And the others."

Killander's split lip curled. "Lieutenant Watson did punch me."

Sherlock stared across the corridor at Yao. She looked him in the eyes. She said, with a strange smile, "The best defense is attack, attack, attack." She held her hands up higher.

Killander turned. "Why did you do it? He was your own kind."

Her posture shifted. Everything about the way she held herself changed. Yao's face twisted with a snarl. "He betrayed all the Khans. Khan Meiying and Khan Noonian Singh shouldn't have been flung into space. To die asleep in the void. My ancestors should have died as warriors here on Earth." Spit flew with the vehemence of her speech. "This false Khan died a traitor's death. It's why I stayed close to this one." She curled her lips at Sherlock. "The very image of the traitor."

Killander couldn't hear her steady heartbeat. Utterly calm.

"Get her out of here," said Killander. Two of the guards grabbed Yao's arms. She appeared to struggle, but she didn't fling them into the shelves. She didn't crack their necks as she was taken away.

Killander turned back to Odo. "You broke into a secure facility."

"We solved a case that had Section 31 accusing an entire segment of Federation citizens based on their genetics. I've already contacted Sisko," was the constable's reply.

There was a beep of Killander's com. "That's probably him right now," said Bashir.

An unfamiliar voice said, "This is Rear Admiral Bennet. Captain Killander, in my office, in ten minutes."

"My apologies, I was wrong," said Bashir. He smiled at Odo. "Do you think he'll admit Section 31 exists?"

"I doubt it," said Constable Odo. They frowned looking at Sherlock. "I dislike secrets."

"So does Sherlock," said John, coming to stand next to Sherlock. "That's it then. They've solved what happened."

"They've given Starfleet a positive rather than a negative," said Sherlock. "Let's get out of here." He wanted to be light years away by the time Yao either made her escape, or if she was one of his first father's operatives, the Breen made her escape for her.

Although, something wasn't quite right about that either. His first father was the least likely of his parents to place someone near him to watch over him. And Sherlock doubted that Bashir's contacts were sufficient to arrange this series of events.

Halfway across the galaxy, but he suspected his mother had something to do with the final tidying up of their current location. Them or Mycroft, or both.

A mystery to be examined at length when not in Starfleet custody.


	11. John POV

John ended up with a permanent black mark on his record for punching a superior officer and breaking out of and into a secure facility. They weren't too happy about his lengthy discussion of his sexual activities at the academy, which earned him a black mark for conduct unbecoming an officer. Worth it.

Also, worth seeing the Andorian representative on the Federation Council and twenty of their staff glowering at Captain Killander, while he stumbled his way through an apology for abrogating the rights of citizens who had made such a great contribution to Federation society.

When they headed back to DS9, John kept starting to talk about his family with Sherlock, but that kind of conversation felt wrong on the Daedalus.

John couldn't help but wonder what demons had driven Yao to do what she'd done. He supposed he'd never know. Just as he'd never understand what had driven Harry. Not really.

He wasn't looking forward to telling Billy. Who'd been tentatively working his way up to asking her if they were serious.

He knew he'd have that conversation before he talked to Sherlock.

He even had a conversation with Odo before he talked to Sherlock. Because if there was a being intent on a mystery – other than Sherlock – it was Odo. John said, "Sherlock's secret isn't all that complicated. He joined Starfleet at age fifteen."

"What?" Odo glared at him as if he hadn't been boring a hole through Sherlock's background for days.

"He ran away from home and faked his ID so he could join Starfleet three years early. That's why he's from the whosey-whatsitplanet that lost its records. They don't let cadets in until age eighteen and Sherlock is the least patient person in the history of ever."

Odo grumbled. Impossible to tell if the truth would make him let it go. Only time would tell.

John promised himself that he really would have a real conversation with Sherlock as soon as they were back home on the Bakerstreet, which was going to rendezvous with them at DS9.

Admittedly, he didn't expect Major Kira to hail the Daedalus one day out of DS9. "Captain Sisko. There's something wrong with Odo."

Benjamin said, "What do you mean? Odo is here with me." Which led to the realization that there was a Changeling intruder on the station pretending to be Odo.

Which meant their transfer to and from DS9 was more of a beam over to the Bakerstreet, which had stopped at DS9 on the request of the Andorian ambassador.

Still, as he looked at the familiar blue of the Transporter Room Cloud, John felt himself relax.

He looked at the side profile of Sherlock's face.

He was home.


	12. Other POV

Chin Singh put aside the identity of Soo-Lin Yao as she put aside her Starfleet uniform.

It had never been meant to be permanent. She had expected at most six months from the moment she put it on, and set in motion the events that should reveal Soo-Lin's crime. She'd expected time to get to know Sherlock. Time to follow family tradition, and run away from home.

Two years later than her expectation and she was heading back by a completely unexpected path. Soo-Lin's identity grown closer to her own identity than she'd expected.

She headed for the designated location on Beta Aurigae where her ship, the _Bloody Hand_ was hidden. She had the modifications to her face removed. She told herself that needed to be done first.

Looked in a holo mirror and hardly knew herself.

She spent time walking the streets of Beta Aurigae communities. There were many who recognized her. She told herself that she wasn't waiting for anyone in particular. No particular event. No particular person.

She told herself that right up until her brother showed up. He said, "Presumably you've lingered here because there is something wrong with your ship. I've been sent to fetch you."

"Like a dog," said Chin Singh. "Run away from home." An insult. A polite fiction. "There is nothing wrong with my ship. You may follow if you wish." She told herself no one was following the clues she'd left and girded herself for the duties of home.


End file.
